


One day come home

by Tethys_resort



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Being Lost, Beleriand, Coping, Family, Gen, Missing Persons, Music, host of valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23042635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tethys_resort/pseuds/Tethys_resort
Summary: Glorfindel’s family never gave up searching for him.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	One day come home

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings: finding out about the death of a loved one. As always please contact me if you have questions about this work.

_I am sorry but I need to do this. I’ll be home as soon as possible._

_Love,_

_Laurefindil_

Laurefindil left his note on his clothes chest, it would be found eventually.

He walked as quietly as possible through the darkness of the deserted courtyard with his hunting backpack. As he walked past he patted a few of the big trees on the edge of the yard. Song alone was proving insufficient and without the Light of the Trees the plants would not grow.

Listening carefully, he could hear the failing cries of the plants in the garden. He had joined his father, mother and big sister in Singing to the plants. His little brother was doing frantic research, looking for a way to supply the Light the plants lacked. Everything they had done had slowed but not halted what was a slow losing battle. 

Soon there would be nothing to eat. There had already been a couple of minor brawls in the marketplace, over minor things but spurred on by the desperate terror of the dark. 

He wanted to say goodbye but he knew they would try to talk him out of following Nolofinwe and Turukano. But getting the Silmarils back was the best chance they had of saving them all. 

Hopefully they would understand. 

He turned north on the side path and walked away without a second glance. 

***

Lorlindale paused on his walk home through the sprawling camp of the Host of Valinor. 

The minstrel was unfamiliar and an oddity in the Vanya camp. She was seated by a campfire, playing for some of the Vanyar soldiers. Black hair and darker skin: not Vanya. Maybe Noldo, Sinda or Avari. She looked very Noldor to his eyes but he had not had enough to do with the elves born here to really tell. Ragged and too thin, with the signs of strain on body, heart and soul that all of the elves living in this forsaken land seemed to be born with she still sang cheerfully with power in her Song. 

It was the Sindarin song that caught his attention.

He stood quietly to listen as the minstrel continued into the next verse about an elf lord with long gold hair in a lost country called Gondolin. His expression didn’t change as the song ended but internally he heaved a sigh before walking up to the minstrel.

The soldiers nodded with respect, and a few moved to make a space for him. One said, “Good evening Lord Lorlindale, did you wish to join us?”

He shook his head. “I am due in my own camp for dinner. But may I take the minstrel with me?” He would rather do this without orders or too much fuss.

The minstrel looked frightened and Lorlindale rolled his eyes. “I am merely hiring you to play for my family this evening.” 

The unit commander said, “You should go. Lord Lorlindale’s family will pay far more handsomely than a warm dinner and a few drinks.”

“If it is a deciding factor, dinner and breakfast both, a bath and warm bed between are added to the payment.” 

The minstrel sat silent, staring at the lute in her thin hands and Lorlindale realized that she hadn’t really understood the conversation in Quenya. Heaving an irritated sigh, he repeated his offer in Sindarin. The minstrel brightened, bowed to the group and rose to collect her bag.

He left the fire, trailed by the minstrel and with the soldiers cheerfully wishing the nervous musician well in Quenya. As they walked deeper into the camp, the group was already singing a drinking song and laughing. 

They walked in silence for a few minutes before the minstrel whispered in Sindar, “My lord? Did your family wish to hear songs of Beleriand?”

Glancing back, the minstrel’s face was pale and drawn. Lorlindale sighed. He hated talking but if he delivered the minstrel to his family frightened speechless his sister would have fits. “No… No, not particularly. But they will be deeply interested in the song you were just singing.”

***

Entering the Host of Valinor camp had been a dangerous gamble and she was the only one with both the skill and little enough to lose to volunteer to go. No one in the Wandering Company was quite certain of how the elves of Valinor would feel about the elves of Beleriand. 

She had stood up and followed the heavily armed lord without thinking too carefully. But Pika almost ran when their destination came into view. Lord Lorlindale had strolled with a definite lack of concern right where she would never have dared to try busking: a major House encampment next to the royal encampment. 

Once in the yard, he turned and went into a cheerfully lit smaller tent. That was still larger than most buildings she had seen… She paused at the door, staring at the guard (with the muscles of the well fed) that was eyeing her suspiciously. 

Lord Lorlindale stopped when she hesitated and said, “This is the family meeting tent.” By the narrow eyed expression, the elf lord was obviously wondering if she was going to run. He snorted and continued. “Food, money, a bath, a warm safe bed for tonight?”

The tone, as if to a not very bright elfling, stung her pride and she marched past him into the tent. 

And straight into a pair of females obviously related to Lord Lorlindale. 

They blinked at her and then looked over her shoulder at Lord Lorlindale, saying something in Quenya. She only caught a couple of words but Lord Lorlindale answered in Sindarin, “I don’t know her name. She has information we want though, so I have hired her to sing for the evening.” He paused and turned to one. “Mother, I have promised proper payment, dinner, breakfast, a bath and a warm safe bed for the night. Any terms beyond that are yours to make.”

Pika’s skin prickled. The elf lord had only heard the end of one song. A cold pain rose in her stomach. She hadn’t noticed in the dusk following Lord Lorlindale, but both women are also very tall, even for Vanya, with especially bright gold hair, and blue eyes like the night sky just before the stars appear. Just like the descriptions of Lord Glorfindel.

***

After dinner, Lawadis watched Pika settle herself onto a stool with her instrument, checking the tuning with the assurance of a trained musician. Despite the half-starved, slightly feral look, the minstrel obviously did well enough to own a carefully maintained lute with rare metal strings and even a tuning fork. 

Lorlindale said the minstrel had information. His eyes had been grim all through dinner.

The Host of Valinor had been in the collapsing remains of Beleriand for over a year now. At first Lawadis had expected her little brother to pop up in the encampment in typical Laurefindil fashion: dusty, with his braids coming down and a wide grin that tended to charm everyone who encountered it. 

It had taken continuous fighting over the last year to meet King Gil-galad. Laurefindil had not been with that army. 

And there were too many pressing, daily disasters to sit down and start asking questions of the very few elves who spoke Quenya. And of the elves who spoke Quenya, even fewer wanted to speak with any of the Vanya. The Valar and the Host of Valinor were saviors who had waited until almost too late and destroyed as much as they saved. 

Too late for poor Beleriand. Lawadis could feel the soul of the place bleeding and dying. Laurefindil loved the trees, both wild in the mountains and tame within their garden, she could only imagine that he mourned the wreckage of this land.

They had all been learning Sindarin as rapidly as possible since landing. Lorlindale had gotten good enough to be used as a translator for King Arafinwe and Lawadis wasn’t far behind. She and Lorlindale had agreed that if their wayward middle sibling hadn’t appeared within two years they were going hunting. 

Pika, the minstrel, ran her fingers gently down the strings in a tiny cascade of sound before she straightened and began. “This is the Lay of Gondolin.”

The song was a style of long chant, a long history story.

_“The land was quiet and the wind free_

_The stars bright and singing_

_in the time before the Sun and Moon…”_

Her little brother had crossed the Ice and helped build a city.

_“The white mountains enclosed them,_

_And the eagles watched from the heights…”_

He had fought in a never ending War that slowly claimed her cousins. 

_“Lady Idril drew her sword with Lord Tuor beside her_

_Little Earendil in his tutor’s arms_

_Orcs surrounded them_

_With the Balrog laughing at his prize._

_And Lord Glorfindel could not bear to watch them die…”_

Lawadis began to cry and her mate pulled her closer. Her parents were hunched in on themselves and Lorlindale. It seemed no hunt would be necessary after all. 

The minstrel ended her song with the image of tattered refugees leaving a grave on a mountain pass and quiet chords. She looked at the crying family and ducked her head, beginning a gentle lullaby. 

Lawadis noticed that she too had tears in her eyes. “Pika?” she asked, “Were you from Gondolin?”

The minstrel’s fingers didn’t stop but she quietly answered, “I was born in the East, in the shadow of the mountains and along the rivers just after the rising of the Sun and Moon. My lord was from Nargothrond though.” She paused and the silence stretched as she Sang comfort into her playing. Finally she said, “Lord Glorfindel belonged to your family?”

“He is my little brother.” Lawadis can’t leave the horrible image of her laughing brother fighting a monster.

“I never met him but I grieve for your loss. He saved many.” The tone was quiet and accepting, and Lawadis wondered how many Elves, Dwarves and Men the minstrel had seen die. 

They all jumped when the dish hit the ground hard enough to scatter debris across the tent. Lawadis looked up at her mother standing next to the table. She clutched another dish. “My Laure ‘saved many’ but he’s still dead.” Their father carefully took hold of the dish and she let go, tears beginning in earnest. “My son was killed by a demon of fire because his cousins were IDIOTS!” Her voice had spiraled up to a shriek. 

Even the door guard jumped at the volume and pitch.

The minstrel was the only one not to flinch. She answered quietly, “He saved Lord Earendil. And he and Lady Elwing brought the Host to save what can be salvaged.” Even more quietly she whispered, “Namo will hold him safe along with my friends, parents and mate. Away from all the evil in this world.” 

She continued to play quietly long into the night, trying to soothe the family she had shattered. 

***

The return to their House in Valmar was a quiet affair. The War of Wrath was over. Beleriand was disappearing beneath the Sea forever. Most of the Host had made it home. 

Pika the minstrel had turned out to be surprisingly helpful: introducing them to Lord Gildor of the Wandering Company, and in turn Lord Gildor to King Arafinwe (or Finarfin, as he had dubbed himself soon after). 

She had brought them a survivor of Gondolin who was willing to answer all the questions he could. 

She brought them a log book salvaged from Glorfindel’s House (and a worried archivist who carried it) and Lawadis had half cried to see a careful record in her brother’s hand describing the daily training routine of the soldiers under his command. And half laughed at a different scrap of paper loose inside that contained the partial notation of his failure at growing orange trees from seeds. 

Most important of all, they found all the surviving members of the House of the Golden Flower. Most had died in Gondolin, fighting next to Glorfindel. Most of the survivors had died in Sirion or any number of other battlegrounds. But they brought a handful back to Valinor to settle in Valmar, Tirion or wherever their heart desired. 

Pika herself had laughed slightly sadly and said, “I will stay with the Company. Valinor does not hold my mate either.”

Arm in arm, Lawadis’ parents looked at the banner over the front door. The House of the Thousand Leaves. Her father said, “I think we if budge it over can just add the banner next to it, there’s enough room for two. I think the colors will even match nicely.”

Lawadis’ mate hugged her closer and said down their bond, _“As if the color mattered to them.”_ He sounded amused. _“I think if the Golden Flower and the Thousand Leaves clashed in color they would simply change the Leaves.”_

Namo had informed them all that the elves in his Halls would one day come home. Laurefindil would find his House banners flying and his family waiting. 

***

It had been almost 200 years since Pika’s last visit to Lindon with the Wandering Company. It had changed a lot in the 1600 odd years since King Gil-galad had started building the town. The muddy collection of half built houses clustered in the corners of the public squares and gardens were now paved roads, properly grown trees, tidy houses and businesses. 

Lord Gildor had asked her to drop off some music with the House of Elrond on her way East. Asking around, the House of Elrond was still in the Holly Wing of the Palace. And from the way people responded to the query, just as weird as it had ever been. 

She laughed to herself as she went in a side door to the Holly Wing; as if any House made of Feanorians would ever be completely “normal”. 

Lindir was in the music room at practice with two other minstrels but halted the practice to leap up and hug her. “Pika! How are you? Is the Company in town?”

She smiled at the young minstrel bouncing from foot to foot. “Just me, Lord Gildor is heading south to the realms of Men. I thought I would go East and visit the lands beyond the Woodland Realm again. Would you like me to take a message to your parents?”

The smile grew wider. “Yes, how much time do you have? We were just finishing up practice and I’ll write a letter now.” He dismissed the other two musicians and went over to the cluttered desk at the side of the room. 

As he pulled out parchment and ink he said more quietly, “How are Lord Gildor and the Company?”

She took off her pack and slouched into the closest chair. “Doing fine, but I bring more music direct from Lord Gildor. We had an interesting evening of singing and he was inspired to write a song especially for you.”

Lindir’s smile grew. “Lord Elrond will be pleased with new music.” He paused and then looked at her with a carefree smile. “Let’s get lunch after this? Are you staying in town tonight or moving on?”

“Onward. Right after lunch, if you don’t mind.” Pika had never managed to stay put or with the Company for long. Lord Gildor had simply given her that slightly sad look he always did when she continued on alone, and bid her rejoin them all when she would. “Can we eat out in the gardens or along the river?” It has been too long since she lived in a building.

“Let me finish my letter and we’ll eat lunch down by the river. Cook would probably be happy to fill your bags with dinner if you ask.” 

Pika smiled. Any more than Lord Gildor, Lindir would never question her solitary wanderings. 

After a solid lunch and the Cook loading her down with enough food for days of dinners, Pika walked back out of Lindon and East away from the Sea. If she walked fast enough, she could play at one of the Eregion trade road taverns for the evening and make a little coin. 

One day the Sea might call to her, but not yet.

Back in the Palace of Lindon, life continued on undisturbed. Upstairs in the Holly Wing, Lord Glorfindel took a moment to have tea with Lord Elrond. 


End file.
